Horse

     Ron,

    Life hasn't been too bad here lately. Dudley has a friend, Stephen, staying for the whole summer. It's not too terrible, though. I've grown a couple of inches so they are scared of me, I think. And Stephen thinks I go to a correctional institute for boys because I'm a threat to society. It makes him avoid me, so I don't mind. I play the part pretty well, too.

    I got an owl from Hermione the other day. She said she was having a great summer but decided not to visit Krum. They're going to meet at one of his matches later on, but it sounds like she's not interested. I'm glad to hear that she's doing okay.

    I haven't heard much from Sirius, but I expect he's awfully busy. I hope he's okay. Hagrid sent me a short letter earlier this summer, just to check up on me. I don't know why they're so worried about me here; Voldemort's no the threat from Privet Drive.

    How's the rest of the family? I'm sure Fred and George are getting ready for next year. Has your dad made any headway in the Ministry? I don't know anything besides what you have told me. Has Fudge acknowledged Voldemort's return?

    I can't wait to get back to school. I don't know why they call this summer holidays. I'm really looking forward to the food. I think I've lost about ten pounds this summer. I don't think the Dursleys are letting me go to your house at the end of the summer. Their goal has been to make my life a living hell. I think they are keeping me here because they know I want to leave. Well, I'm running out of parchment, so if I don't hear from you before the summer is over then I'll see you at King's Cross on September 1st. Have a good vacation,

                        Harry

    Ron placed the yellowed paper heavily on his desk. Something wasn't right with Harry. He didn't know what, but Harry was withholding something, and Ron suspected that it had something to do with the Dursleys. Usually Harry described every exchange, every argument he had with his relatives; it was his way of venting without bringing down Vernon's wrath.

    Ron stood abruptly, pushing his chair back across the room. He grabbed the letter from his desk and hurried down to his father's study.

    Upon throwing open the door he found his brother Charlie rummaging through his father's desk drawers. Charlie looked up with a perplexed expression. "Have you seen my Apparating certificate? I really need it tomorrow," he said, returning to his search.

    Ron was still surprised at seeing Charlie, whom he hadn't seen since the Tri-Wizard Tournament. "Charlie. You're...here."

    Charlie looked up with a small smile. "Hey Ron. How's it going?"

    Ron shook himself out of his stupor and stepped into the room. "You don't know where Dad is, do you? I really need to talk to him."

    Charlie gazed intently at Ron's frantic tone. "Ron, is everything okay? You sound worried."

    Ron hesitated for a moment, then thrust the letter forward to Charlie. He quizzically took the paper from him and read it. "What's wrong? He just sounds a little lonely."

    Ron sighed deeply and collapsed in an armchair. "I don't know. Something just doesn't sound right with him. I'm really worried. And why isn't he angry about not being allowed to come here? I don't know, something's just...wrong."

    Charlie frowned. He knew that Harry had been through a lot last year; it was a stressful year that anyone would have found hard to endure. For Ron to be this worried, though, Harry's mental state must be worse than Charlie could imagine. Harry was dealing with issues that most adults, wizard or Muggle, never did. He lived in a hostile house during the summer, endured the isolation of a celebrity, was the target of a very powerful dark wizard, and undoubtedly felt guilt over a classmate's death. He sat in the chair adjacent to Ron's.

    "Well, maybe we could visit him."

    Ron's eyes lit up. "Really?"

    Charlie hesitated and reflected over his proposal. "I don't see why not. We could go today if you want. I could probably scare up a Portkey from somewhere. We won't be able to stay for long; those Muggles won't be too happy, I don't think. But sure, we could visit him."

    Ron gave a relieved smile. "Okay, we'll tell Mum. We can go after dinner." Charlie nodded and walked behind Ron's chair on his way out of the study, flipping Ron's chair over backwards as he passed.

        *                *                *        

    Harry rushed to the heavy oak door. The iron lock clicked shut as he threw himself against the iron bars and screamed obscenities at the retreating Death Eaters. Their snide, condescending laughter echoed down the dark, dank corridor. He slid to the floor as his knees gave out. He shivered and pulled his robes tighter around him.

    "This is what you get. It's what you deserve for letting me die, you know." Harry looked deep into Cedric's face.

    "I know. I'm sorry." Cedric smiled and sat down next to him.

    "You're too nice for your own good." Cedric suddenly looked different, but familiar. He reminded Harry of someone he had seen but once long ago, but couldn't place who it was. "It will cause you more pain later in life. But don't stop loving, okay? Never stop loving, or else you'll be just like him." Cedric looked like himself again. "I must go." Cedric disappeared and was replaced with a gothic, grinning Death Eater. Harry scrambled to the back corner of the cell, looking wildly around for an escape, any escape. The Death Eater strode into the cell and grabbed Harry's robes, dragging him out of the cell and throwing him against the opposite wall. Harry shook his head to clear his vision, noting the small pieces of sheet rock that had been dislodged. He heard someone yell his name and felt two hands helping him to his feet. He took in Ron's shock of red hair and Charlie's strong form standing protectively between him and Vernon.

    Ron was glancing him over. "My God, Charlie, look at this." In a moment Charlie was in front of him, a soft expression replacing the leaden look he had shot at Vernon. His hand lightly grasped Harry's chin and rotating his head as Charlie examined the black and purple marks adorning Harry's face.

    Charlie's face became neutral as he spoke calmly to Ron. "Ron, pack Harry's things. We're taking him to the Burrow."

    Harry ripped away from Charlie. "No, no, I can't. I can't go to your home." He backed away from the two Weasleys.

    "Harry," Charlie pleaded, "you can't stay here. They're abusing you, Harry. They've gone too far. You'll be safe at the Burrow, I promise." Charlie stepped forward but paused as Harry immediately retreated.

    Harry's had was bowed, his eyes downcast. "But if I go to the Burrow, you won't be safe," he whispered. He lifted his head, the light glowing diffusely over his black eye. "You should go. I have chores to do." He turned quietly and left the hallway, leaving two flabbergasted brothers behind.

    Charlie lifted his jaw and turned back to Ron. He firmly grasped Ron's shoulder and moved him toward the iron door. When he reached Vernon, he paused.

    "If you ever hit him again, I'll make sure you wish you were a wizard. And get him out of that cupboard; he deserves more than you can ever give him." With a swoop of his cloak he left the house, the lock clicking shut in the heavy oak doors.

    Vernon scowled at the door. Sounds from the kitchen drew him to the doorway. "Why did you do that, boy? Why didn't you go with them?"

    Harry looked up impassively from where he was cleaning the kitchen counters. "I won't put the Weasleys in danger because of my presence. I'd rather stay here because I don't care if Voldemort kills you to get to me." He rung out his rag and started wiping off the counters again. Vernon processed his words and returned to his paper with a smirk.

        *                *                *        

    The unhot flames roared in Dumbledore's fireplace. Sirius stepped out forcefully, nearly colliding with Severus Snape. Though the office was spacious, the sheer amount of warm bodies in the room made the gathering uncomfortable. Of course, the daggers glared between Sirius and Snape didn't help matters. Arthur, Bill, and Charlie Weasley were present, as well as Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, Hagrid, Alastor Moody, and Remus Lupin. Dumbledore, who was standing behind his desk, motioned for everyone to find a seat on the chairs he conjured.

    With a deep sigh, he began. "As most of you know, the wards placed on the home of Harry Potter's guardians, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, signaled that Harry has not been in the home for three days. We do not know where he is. Locator spells point to a certain area of London. This area is Muggle, however it is one of the worst areas of London. We will split up into teams of two: Arthur and Sirius, Remus and Minerva, Severus and Charlie, Bill and Flitwick, and Alastor and Hagrid. I ask all of you to be careful; we don't know who's hands he is in."

    Within the hour the group had Apparated to London and had begun their search. If one group were to find Harry, Dumbledore had instructed them to make a flare light from their wands. Revealing themselves as wizards to the nearby Muggles was not a major concern as the people largely ignored the strangers.

    Two hours later no flares had been shot off. The search teams were tired, but their determination was still strong. Sirius and Arthur had covered all their territory plus more. Arthur repeatedly had to calm Sirius, though his own nerves were strung out as well.

    Charlie wasn't doing much better. He remembered the tired, resigned look on Harry's bruised face. Snape didn't seem to have his heart in the search; he had said earlier that he was skeptical that Harry was even here. Why would he be?

    The pair entered yet another dark alley. Charlie was reminded of an old Muggle film with dripping water, overturned trash cans, and a glow of light at the end of the alley. They walked along, showing Harry's photo to bums and looking behind dumpsters. Like before, no one had seen him. Charlie was trying to wake a drunk when Snape called him over.

    "Flare up, Weasley. Get over here; he's not doing too well." Charlie sent the flare sparks up, bright and red. What he found Snape stooping over was nothing like the Harry he remembered. The creature before him was covered in dirt and bruises. There wasn't a clean spot on him. Snape continued to check the boy over, moving all his limbs and examining his face. He lifted the sleeve of Harry's shirt when he saw blood dripping down his hand. Charlie wretched at the sight of the weeping wound. The skin had turned black and there was a large, bloody sore in the middle of the bruising. On the ends two pieces of a scar, relatively recent, could be seen.

    Snape sighed and crouched on his heels. He felt around the ground and finally clutched at a small glass object. He held the syringe in front of his hardened face and examined it, his lips constricting into a thin line. After pocketing the syringe, he scooped Harry into his arms with surprising strength. Charlie followed him to the mouth of the alleyway where Arthur and Sirius were just arriving. After a quick consultation, Sirius, Arthur, Snape, and Harry used a Portkey to return to Hogwarts while Charlie stayed behind to let the other searchers know of the developments.

        *                *                *

    Harry's head felt as if a ten ton weight was resting atop it. He tried to open his eyes but the blinding white light made him snap his eyes shut and groan. The sound reverberated in his head, causing excruciating pain. The sudden sounds emanating from his surroundings didn't help matters. He was vaguely aware of a male voice telling another person to be quiet.

    "Harry?" The voice was only a soft whisper.

    Harry tried to open his eyes. He found that the lights had been extinguished and was no longer painful to him. A hand placed his glasses on his head.

    "Harry, can you hear me?"

    Harry looked in the direction of the voice. Professor Snape was standing beside his bed (How did he get in a bed?) and Sirius was staring wide-eyed at him.

    "Here." Snape thrust a small cup at him. "Drink this." Harry tried to lift his arm to grasp the cup, but his arm wouldn't obey him. With a cold expression, Snape held Harry's head up and raised the cup to his lips. Harry quickly downed the potion, ignoring the fetid odor. He coughed as the mixture slid down his throat and settled in his stomach. Snape let his head settle on the soft pillow and walked out of the infirmary, throwing away the cup on his way out.

    Harry turned his head to meet Sirius's eyes. Sirius was looking at him with a sad expression. Harry noted for the first time how old Sirius looked. He was only in his mid-thirties yet his face was worn and wrinkles adorned his forehead. He had dark circles under his eyes, evidence of a lack of sleep. This present Sirius was reminiscent of the man that had emerged from Azkaban two years before. Suddenly, Harry felt a wave of nauseous guilt.

    Sirius sighed and ran his fingers wearily though his hair. He rested his elbows on his knees and held his head. "What went wrong?" he asked, so quietly that Harry could barely hear him. "Two months ago you seemed fine. What did I miss?"

    Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling and thought about how to explain himself. No explanation seemed adequate, though.

    "I'm not as strong as everyone thinks I am, Sirius. I'm not as strong as you think I am." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Someone I met over the summer said I was self-destructive. He said that's why I let the Dursleys treat me the way they did, and why I started on drugs. I didn't believe him at the time, but maybe I should have. I don't know, I guess it doesn't matter anymore. The drugs just...made life easier. I mean, yeah, it made life harder, too. Getting the money, getting the drugs, that was difficult, and painful, and--degrading, but once I was high, everything was okay. There was no danger, no nightmares, no worries."

    Sirius sighed again. "Didn't you know that what you were doing was wrong? Dangerous? Not to mention illegal?"

    Harry managed a weak smile. "Sirius, no one ever told me about the drugs. Normal kids learn about them in Muggle schools, but it's not addressed here. Vernon certainly never talked to me. I mean--the closest we've ever come to a mentoring talk was bout the birds and the bees, and he just said if I ever got someone pregnant he'd rip my balls off."

    "Oh." The two men sat in silence so thick a knife could cut it. After a while, Madame Pomfrey popped her head in.

    "You didn't kill him, did you, Sirius?" Sirius shot her a nasty look and she returned to her office.

    "So what happens now?" Harry asked.

    Sirius stood and paced around some. "You stay here until school starts. Dumbledore is letting me stay until teachers start to return. We collected your things from the Dursleys. I don't know what we'll do next summer; apparently your aunt and uncle are completely inept at raising you."    

    The door groaned open and Snape whisked in..

    "You will stay in the infirmary for three more days, Potter. You need to take one spoonful of this potion every four hours, even at night. It will help keep you from falling into withdrawal." He threw a grave look at the pair. "It won't be easy, but you have to face the consequences of your own actions." He fled the room as quickly as he could.

    Sirius looked after him long after the door had closed. "For once, I agree with him." He turned back to Harry. "Get some rest; you lost a lot of strength." With a pat on the boy's shoulder he quietly left the room, leaving Harry to his own.

    Harry sighed and settled in his bed. Nothing felt real. It was strange; this incident provoked more real fear in him than any time he had faced Voldemort. Maybe it was because his loved ones were the victims, while he was the perpetrator. There would be no hero's ending to this story.

    As The Boy Who Lived fell back into a sleepy oblivion, he subconsciously matured just a little. He would not have an easy year; he still had to face the rest of the school. But he had learned his lesson and wore his reminder on his arm in the form of a scar within a scar.